


Unsuccessful experiments

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There is no way to change time”, River thinks grimly, “Your life is not some cheap science fiction novel.” </p><p>[part of the R/D AU ficathon, written for the prompt 'River is a present day girl and the Doctor is an aristocrat (and a genius) from the 18th century who invents a time machine and travels forward in time']</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. A crying man in the park

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoilersweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoilersweetie/gifts).



> It's my first time doing this, so this is quite nerve-wracking. I hope I did that brilliant prompt some justice, and I hope that's not too disappointing!

There is a man crying on a bench in the park. His face is flushed and his hands are gripping the edge of the seat as if he is about to fall, his shoulders are shaking and there is no doubt about it – he’s crying. 

The park is busy, crowded with parents and children, tourists, and joggers, and the man goes unnoticed for a while. River is not exactly sure what makes her look at him, what catches her eye as she hurries past the row of benches – a large handbag hanging from the crook of her elbow and a stack of folders and books held close to her chest.

The man glances up as she approaches and there is just a split second in which his reddened eyes catch hers. Suddenly, River has forgotten that she is late, forgotten that she is supposed to be getting a train, and she is _curious._

She stops in her tracks and observes the man with the kind of hesitation that is characteristic of someone who is driven to strike up a conversation but has no idea if a simple “Hello” would suffice. It is while she’s observing the strange man that she notices his clothes, his hair, and everything beyond those large, wet eyes that have been staring at her for at least a good couple of minutes now.

“Are you an actor?”

River’s curiosity overpowers her manners and she abandons the idea of a simple ‘Hello’, and jumps straight to asking questions. The man does nothing but sniffle and look down, and River frowns at him.

He has got to be an actor, his clothes are anachronistic to the park where businessmen hurry past talking on their smart phones, and children play with electronic gadgets that River has long stopped caring about or trying to remember their names.

She stares at the man for another moment before deciding that, what the hell, she is late anyway and who cares if a student misses a lecture every once in a while. So she sits down next to the man and takes in the fabric of his coat – it looks soft, like velvet, and the rest of his outfit is just as carefully crafted – lace and silk and leather, and River thinks that she has never seen a more accurate recreation of the clothes rich people wear in paintings from a few centuries ago.

It’s impressive, and whoever made that costume is amazing, she thinks, but none of that is as important as finding out why a man dressed like a member of the 18th century aristocracy would be sitting in Hyde Park, crying his eyes out.

“Are you _okay_?” River asks and the man looks back up at her.

“I am lost,” he says. His voice is low and pleasant and River imagines it would sound soft if it wasn’t for the hoarseness that comes with crying. If he is an actor, he is doing an incredible job at being whoever his mysterious character is supposed to be. “Where am I? What year is it?”

River has to actively resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. He’s mysterious and interesting and she’s always been compassionate, but she’s beginning to think she’s been dragged into some sort of performance art piece or prank video, and she doesn’t find it amusing at all. His question is, after all, the biggest cliché of time travel pranks.

 

“2013,” she says and her annoyance is audible as the man gasps, glove-clad hands flying up to cover his mouth.

“I made it!” he breathes, his voice a dramatic whisper as tears start streaming down his face again. “I am not _lost,_ I am right where I am supposed to be, I made it!”

The pathos in his tone sounds genuine and his performance is almost convincing. A decent actor in a gorgeous costume, acting as if he has just discovered time travel. This time, River rolls her eyes and stands up hastily, looking around.

“What _is_ this?” she asks, frowning down at him. “Am I gonna be on telly? Is this a prank?”

When the man glances up at her, River is taken aback for a moment. She has never seen such great acting and the utter confusion in the man’s eyes catches her off guard.

For a split second, she allows her mind to wander and almost laughs out loud at the thought – what if the man on the bench did invent time-travel? What if, _no, seriously, what if! –_ he actually showed up from the 18th century?

She’s too busy listening to her own imagination and almost misses it when the man speaks up quietly and says,

“I _swear,_ ma’am, you have got to believe me, I created this—this _instrument,_ and I didn’t believe it would work but it _worked_ and now I am here—“ Slowly, River sits back down, her eyes fixed intently on him as her mind goes wild with possibilities and what ifs. She realizes she must be staring at him – her own eyes wide and incredibly curious now – because he sighs and trails off.

“Let me explain,” he says, and for some reason she feels compelled to listen to him. “First of all, I’m the Doctor.” 


	2. II. Believing the Doctor

Somewhere along the line in the next half an hour, River finds herself asking if the man would care for some tea and then leading him to a small coffee shop that is nowhere near as crowded as the rest of the cafes in the area. There, she ends up buying them both tea and then she just keeps listening. 

Somewhere along the line in the next hour, the Doctor manages to make her believe.

His story is ridiculous and amazing and incredible, and River thinks to herself that there is no way that any of it is true; and then thinks again – there’s no other option, the man can’t be an actor, and she is pretty sure that while he appears to be a mad genius, there is no way he’s simply _mad._

There is something about the passion with which he speaks that makes her buy into every single word he says. Eventually, he pulls out a small blue journal and he shows her diagrams and drawings of impossible machines, essays about impossible theories, and pages upon pages on the topic of making the impossible possible.

Somewhere along the line, River stops asking if this is all a joke or a prank or just a brilliant actor practicing his art on a gullible young woman.

At the back of her mind, River feels like she knows the Doctor already, like she has heard his name before and they were bound to meet, somewhere and at some point in time.

“I have only known you for an hour,” she says suddenly, glancing at her phone to get the time. The Doctor’s face fills with amazement as her phone screen lights up and River briefly wonders how incredible her world might look to him, if he really is who they both seem to believe he is. “And yet I trust you,” she adds, a vocal continuation of her hesitant thoughts.

The Doctor relaxes visibly at her words, his shoulders dropping and his features softening as he looks at her over the edge of the large cup of tea. He’s smiling, almost, and River can feel her own lips pulling up in a smile back at him.

“So, your machine—“

“Instrument,” he corrects and she laughs. 

“Your _instrument,_ then, do you know how to operate it backwards? Can you go back?”

The Doctor falls silent and shakes his head. For a minute, River watches him as his slim fingers go through the pages of the journal.

“I _would_ know how to—if I knew where it is.” River can’t help but think that there is a slight hint of amusement in his tone. To a mad genius, the thought of being stuck in an unfamiliar century must sound utterly amazing. Horrifying, yes, but also amazing, and so full of incredible opportunities.

“I guess I am stuck here, for now,” he says and he suddenly seems horrified at the thought. His voice has dropped to a defeated whisper again, and he looks morose. “I do not even know where to find an inn, or somewhere to stay—“

“Oh, don’t be daft,” River finds herself talking long before the idea reaches her mind, and certainly long before she considers it properly. “You can stay in my flat. But first, let’s get you some clothes. Can’t have you walking around like some _weirdo._ ”

The Doctor looks offended, River laughs, and the gravity of the situation doesn’t quite catch up to either of them. 


	3. III. It takes some getting used to

The next morning, the Doctor stumbles into her kitchen looking confused and modern. He’s wearing the dark jeans and grey t-shirt they had settled on when she dragged him shopping, his hair is messier than before and half-covers his sleepy eyes. For a fleeting second River thinks he could easily be one of her boyfriends after a long night and not a time-travelling genius from three centuries ago who just accidentally happened to end up in 21st century London. 

“How do ya feel, then?” River asks around a mouthful of toast. 

“ _Exposed_ ,” The Doctor says and she giggles because all she can see are his lean, pale arms and there’s nothing even remotely provocative about that. 

“It’s just a _t-shirt,_ you’ll get used to that,” she laughs as she hops off her chair and heads over to grab a clean mug. “Coffee?”

“No, I did not mean _myself,_ I mean—“

River realizes that his eyes are fixed on her legs right around the same time as she realizes that she’s still wearing the pajama shorts she sleeps in, a ridiculously pink tank top, and no bra.

“Oh. Well, mister,” she shakes her head and hands him a cup of coffee. “You’ll get used to that as well.”

The Doctor seems to choke on his coffee and River can’t stop laughing, and she actively chooses to ignore the thought at the back of her mind that indicates that she might be getting way too comfortable with this.

**

She spends the rest of the day quizzing him about his life – where he’s from, if he has any family, what’s his real name, is he married—

The last question, admittedly, has nothing to do with discovering his identity, but River asks anyway. The feeling that she knows him, or she’s read about him, or heard his story somewhere only grows as he tells her more about his heritage an his life.

The next evening, over another pot of tea in her living room, during another series of questions, it all finally clicks.

“Of course! Of course!” River almost yells and she jumps up and the Doctor looks horrified. He’s getting used to her modern ways, certainly, but she still manages to startle him occasionally. Usually, it makes her laugh but now she’s busy yelling and running around the room as she grabs a bunch of books and then returns to the small sofa.

“I _knew_ you were real, I knew it!” River chooses to ignore the way the Doctor scoffs at that and busies herself with one of the books. “I’ve read—your story’s in one of my History books—oh. Oh _no._ ” 

River pales and closes the book hastily, pulling it to her chest so that the Doctor can’t reach it.

“What is it, River?” he asks and there’s urgency in her voice, and suddenly, it just breaks her heart.

“It’s nothing,” she says and stands up quickly. “Get some sleep, Doctor. I’ll discuss all of this with one of my professors, and—“ 

There’s a pause where she clears her throat and when she speaks up again, she’s actively avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to get you home.” 

**

Later that night, River opens the book again and reads the chapter on the inventors of the late 18th century over and over again.

His real name is there, _“nicknamed The Doctor”_ , along with his story, and every time she rereads it her chest becomes tighter. It’s never seemed more impossible, and the mess she’s gotten herself into finally catches up to her.

“There is no way to change time”, River thinks grimly, “Your life is not some cheap science fiction novel.”

But the story is in the book, and it’s real, and there is no way to deny it.

 _“He disappeared,_ ” the paragraph reads, _“after a series of unsuccessful experiments. His body was never found._ ” 


	4. IV. Stranded

_“Hear me out, professor!”_  

“Miss Song, you are out of line.”

River huffs and places her book on the large desk. It is taking all of her self-control not to scream at the pale woman behind the desk, or simply throw the heavy book at her.

After a sleepless Saturday night and a Sunday spent avoiding all of the Doctor’s questions and distracting him through modern day miracles such as the magic of her living room telly, a tube ride, and a short walk down Oxford street, River storms into her History professor’s office first thing Monday morning.

The facts are clear in her head – the book is _wrong,_ the Doctor’s experiment was successful, and all she has to do is get him back to his time so that he can prove everyone wrong and show them.

River hasn’t stopped to consider the practical side of all of that, and how utterly impossible it sounds. 

“It is all in the _book,_ professor Kovarian, just read it and you’ll _understand,_ it’s a _fact—_ “ River’s voice rises with each word and she’s pacing back and forth, and the woman behind the desk seems thoroughly unimpressed.

“The _fact_ is, miss Song,” she says coldly and stands up, making River freeze in her spot immediately. “That there were a lot of madmen in that age. A lot of experiments failed, people went missing or died _._ _The fact_ is that you’ve found some _lunatic,_ and you yourself might be losing your mind.”

River stares at her blankly.

“You might learn a lot more about some real _history_ if you showed up to my lectures more often,” professor Kovarian says, closing the book with a dull sound and handing it back to River. “Instead of picking up strangers on the street and buying their stories.”

There is a moment in which River thinks she might burst out crying. Then she swallows, holds the book to her chest, and spins around on her heel.

“Thank you for your time, professor Kovarian,” River says as she pauses at the door, and she is incredibly composed and cold.

“I will see you on Thursday, miss Song,” the professor nods. “Please try to be _sane_ when you show up.”

River manages to wait until she leaves the building. Then she breaks down.

** 

By the time she gets back to her flat, it’s dark and it’s been raining, so when River walks into the warm flat, she’s shaking and her hair surrounds her freezing face in unimaginable ways.

“You’re back!” The Doctor calls and he has never felt more like a part of her world than he does when River walks into the small living room to find him sitting on the sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table as he watches the news on telly.

“It is amazing, that thing,” he tells her distractedly as he notices her staring at him. He looks back at the screen and shakes his head, muttering something about how brilliant it is to watch the news.

When River says nothing, the Doctor stands up quickly and walks over to her, brow furrowed.

“Did something happen?”

River shakes her head and hurries past him, shrugging her coat off on the way to the kitchen.

“I’ll make us some—dinner, yeah, how about that?” she calls and her voice sounds strained.

“ _What_ happened?” the Doctor pushes, following her into the kitchen where she’s cursing under her breath as she rips the packaging of a premade lasagna open.

“You’re gonna like this,” River says and looks up, and the Doctor can tell she’s trying too hard to appear cheerful. “’s Italian, I don’t know if you’ve had that before—“

“River.”

His voice is urgent and low and River lets her voice trail off pathetically.

“Please tell me what is wrong?” the Doctor is insistent and River thinks bitterly that that form of polite command must be his usual way of communicating with others.

She imagines him surrounded by loyal servants in a beautiful mansion, pictures him just as politely asking for his horse, his dinner, his lover—

River knows her imagination must be nothing like the real life he’s led but she lets her mind romanticise regardless and the sudden realization that she will not be able to give all of that back to him makes her shudder.

“Is it about the instrument?” the Doctor has walked over and is now standing right in front of her, his hands gripping hers, and River can’t help but look up at him. “Is it about _me_?”

His hazel eyes are wide, warm and hopeful and they break River’s heart.

“Oh Doctor, I’m _so_ sorry,” she whispers and pulls her hands out of his grip. “I’m so, so sorry—“

And then River is crying and his arms are around her, and she is sobbing into his shoulder and words feel impossible.

River fails to think of a way to tell him that he is stranded, that he will never go back to his time, that he is, practically, dead to the world in which he belongs.

So instead, she cries into the cheap cotton of the shirt he’s wearing and she lets him walk her out of the kitchen and escort her to her bedroom.

“The Italian meal can wait,” the Doctor says finally as he helps her sit down at the edge of the bed. “You need rest. I am sure your news can wait until tomorrow.”

He is incredibly gentle, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, and River can’t take it. The reality of it all hits her suddenly and, still crying, she comes to terms with her feelings—

Given time, she could fall in love with the gentle, mad genius in her bedroom. And she already knows that they have more time than she could have asked for, that he is not going anywhere, and that there is no going back.

And that’s where she snaps.

“You can’t go back,” River is saying and her voice sounds foreign to her own ears. “You _can’t_ go back because your bloody machine wasn’t supposed to work, you’re not supposed to be here, and history says you’re supposed to be dead. You _failed,_ Doctor, your experiment _failed—_ “

She is screaming at him and he has barely moved. His hand is still barely touching her shoulder and he’s looking down at her, his eyes wide, and sad, and impossibly dark.  

From where he is standing, she looks small and wild, her eyes bloodshot and her hair even wilder than before. Her wet skin’s glowing in the dim light of her bedside lamp and she looks so breathtakingly beautiful that it makes his head spin 

Just for a moment, being stranded in an unfamiliar time with no means of going home does not matter.

“But I am alive,” he observes softly. River drags in a sharp breath and stares up at him. “The books may say whatever they want but I am alive, am I not, River? I am _right here—_ “

The intensity of his voice sends River to her feet and she is kissing him long before she can really think about what is going on. It takes a split moment for the Doctor to respond and when he does, his kiss bears the same gentle command as the way he talks.

River’s hands grip his shirt desperately and he finally lets himself do what he has imagined for days and reaches up, threading long fingers through her curls.

Between breathless attempts at an incoherent conversation, they get rid of clothes and River’s face is still wet from her tears as they fall back onto her bed.

The gravity of being stranded in a foreign time and any consideration of the consequences of their actions seem equally insignificant for the rest of the night.

Some things are universal and that is where nothing else matters, failed time travel attempts be damned. 


	5. V. The rest of time / Epilogue

He wakes her up trailing kisses between her shoulder blades and up the back of her neck until she hums and stirs, turning around to meet his lips with a light kiss. 

“Good morning, River,” the Doctor says, voice thick with sleep, and all she can do is lazily smile up at him.

“I yelled at you last night,” River says instead of a good morning, and the Doctor laughs.

“I’m stuck in the 21st century,” he observes, just as matter-of-factly, making her giggle as she curls into his side and kisses his shoulder.

The way they got there is unclear but somewhere between the horrifying thought of being lost in time and the guilt that comes with being unable to help, they have come to terms with it all, and the first rays of the morning sun see them learning to deal with it.

“I am sorry,” River whispers, lips tracing patterns against his skin.

“I will get used to it,” the Doctor says, echoing her words from just a few mornings ago.

“—that I yelled at you,” River finishes and they both laugh.

“I suppose I will get used to that as well.”

They laugh, and kiss, and then fall silent for a while – both not quite awake, just present enough to be aware of each other fingertips and breath, and lips almost touching, and limbs tangled together with the gentleness and familiarity of people who have shared her small bed for years. 

**

“I am sorry that your experiment failed,” River says, a few hours later, when they have made their way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. 

The Doctor reaches over the small table to take her hand and nearly knocks her cup of coffee over in the process. River shakes her head and he grips her hand. It all feels comfortable, and strangely familiar. 

“On the contrary, miss Song,” the Doctor says around a mouthful of biscuit, and his eyes light up when River laughs. “I think this experiment might actually turn out to be quite successful.” 


End file.
